“Hey, Angie Heller said I smelled great when I took her to the Spring Fling dance. That gives me an idea,” Coop said excitedly. “Last Halloween, a bunch of us watched a slasher movie. Angie got so scared she buried her face in my shoulder. I think that’s when she started liking me. Does your mom ever watch horror movies?”
“Never.”
“I got it!” Kenny snapped his fingers, which used to make Marc jealous, because he couldn’t do it right. But Kenny couldn’t whistle, so they were even. “You can borrow Slither. Your mom’s afraid of snakes. If we let Slither loose in your house, Sawyer can capture him and your mom will be so happy she might kiss him or something.”
Maybe—but Marc would be grounded for a long time. Like, until he was older than Coop. Or even Aunt Molly. “I don’t think that will work. Besides, I have a dog now.” He sat a little taller in his beanbag. “A real good dog. If Trouble saw a snake in the house, she’d probably kill it to protect us.” Dogs could do a lot more than snakes could.
“I think grown-ups have to go on dates to see if they like each other,” Coop said.
“That’s dumb.” Kenny had a long list of things that were dumb. “Why would you even go if you didn’t like a person? Hi, I hate you, wanna have a date?”
Coop ignored his brother. “If Sawyer takes her to dinner or asks her to dance, you’ll know he likes her.”
And then he might stay. Marc grinned for the first time since Mrs. Whittmeyer had picked him up.
Life had been interesting lately, which was nice, but if Sawyer stayed with Mama, life just might be perfect.
* * *
BECCA STOOD AT the bottom of the spiral staircase. She and Sawyer still had an important conversation to finish. Besides, she wanted to thank him again for his help. Only lingering embarrassment stalled her. The Baker girls had not been at their best tonight.
You’re not a Baker anymore.
Oh, but she was. She was beginning to realize she always would be. That her recent quest to have voters see her in a positive light had actually begun years ago, when an awkwardly tall, poor girl had yearned for the respect of her classmates and teachers. Was her need to distance herself from that past why she’d kept her married name after Colin had bailed on their marriage? Even as a jilted wife who’d been publicly humiliated, Becca Johnston had been a step up from Rebecca Baker. “Mayor Johnston” would be still further from those humble beginnings, but winning the election wouldn’t change who her family was.
And fidgeting pointlessly at the bottom of the steps wouldn’t change what Sawyer had witnessed tonight. Lifting her chin, she started climbing the stairs.
The soft, bluesy strains of a guitar drifted from his room; she assumed he was listening to the radio or an iPod. It wasn’t until she stood outside his door, which was cracked open a few inches, that she realized he was playing. He sat on the bed in a white undershirt and jeans, an acoustic guitar across his lap. Apparently the calluses on his long, capable fingers weren’t just from ranch work.
The notes trailed off as he glanced up, meeting her gaze.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, wishing he hadn’t stopped. Watching him had been mesmerizing, especially the expression on his face, somewhere between bliss and concentration. It was easy to imagine him with the same rapt focus when he was touching a woman, bringing her pleasure as unerringly as he’d brought those soulful chords to life.
“No apology necessary,” he said. “I left the door open so I could hear you if you needed me. Is she doing better?”
“She’s passed out cold.” Arguably an improvement over vomit-rama, which had been so gross Becca had gone for a hot shower after she had her sister changed into clean clothes. Now she stood in Sawyer’s room in a silky pajama set, her damp hair drying in ringlets over her shoulder. Given their early morning kitchen encounters, this was far from the first time he’d seen her in pj’s. But being alone in his bedroom with him felt a lot different than leaning against the counter as they both waited for the coffeemaker to finish.
The attic itself seemed cozier than usual in the muted light of matched lamps, with the house quiet below. It was at once peaceful and charged with an electric tension that built with each step she took toward him. Ignoring the two chairs she passed, she sat next to him on the bed. The mattress creaked a soft whisper of greeting and Sawyer welcomed her with that too-appealing tilted smile. She had the impulse to trace her thumb over his lips.
Instead, she nodded toward the guitar. “I didn’t know you played.” There was a lot she didn’t know about him. And yet she felt so close to him, able to confide in him as if he were a friend, repeatedly trusting him with her son.
He regarded the pale wooden guitar as if seeing it for the first time. “This was my brother Charlie’s. He asked for it for Christmas his freshman year of high school, took lessons for a few months. But then he got hyperfocused on school and keeping his GPA scholarship-worthy. The guitar ended up in the hall closet, and I stumbled across it when I was bored one rainy afternoon. Taught myself with the help of the workbook he’d left in the case and some online videos.”
“Your parents must have been glad the investment wasn’t wasted.” She was speaking as someone who was financially responsible for things like piano lessons, but immediately wished she’d said something warmer, like, “your parents must be proud of your talent.”
He made a noncommittal noise, dropping his gaze as he strummed the strings. “Got any requests?”
“Not really. Just no songs about booze tonight.” Dread slithered through her as she thought about how many people had been at the dance hall and how many more would hear about it tomorrow. “I know it’s self-centered to take this personally, to worry about how Molly might make me look, but with Truitt scrambling for reasons to skewer me...” She forced a tight smile, trying not to borrow trouble. “But every family has its troublemakers, right?”
“My family sure did. You’re looking at him.”
“Were you really that bad?” She tried to imagine him as a hell-raising young man. There was always a hint of wickedness in Sawyer’s smile, but he was also someone who helped with second-grade homework and assisted little old ladies with car trouble.
“I guess ‘bad’ depends on your perspective. As a kid, I was a prankster. It probably started because I wanted to be just like Charlie. We had practical joke battles right up until April Fool’s Day of his sophomore year in college. Harder to organize pranks long-distance, but we were creative.”
The affection in his tone made her feel wistful. She and her own siblings hadn’t shared that kind of bond—which shouldn’t depress her, because she didn’t even like pranks. People could get hurt. Yet it was obvious he and his brother had been close.
“Then Charlie buckled down, got serious and made the dean’s list. I was proud of him—we all were. Until he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in pompous arrogance. With honors. I’d always thought, as my dad got older, that Charlie and I would run the ranch together. But it was...challenging after he came home. I decided to strike out on my own. I worked ranches, accumulated rodeo wins. There were wild nights that I cannot, as a gentleman, discuss.”
Becca didn’t want a gentleman tonight. She wanted to relive the gripping passion she’d felt this morning when she’d thought he might kiss her; she wanted to blot out the last few hours, put aside her tangled relationship with her family and explore how good she and Sawyer could be together.
“I never had the chance to be a troublemaker,” she said. “I was busy taking care of my younger brothers and sisters, my son, this town. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no martyr—I love Marc and I love Cupid’s Bow. But trying to be good for everyone gets exhausting.” She trailed her fingers over his collarbone.
He inhaled sharply, but otherwise didn’t react.
She closed the distance between them, her pulse err
atic and her voice low. “Don’t I deserve the chance to be bad?”
Chapter Eleven
Knowing how direct Becca was, Sawyer shouldn’t have been so surprised when she pressed her lips to his. Yet for just a moment, he couldn’t believe this was happening.
Need sparked through him as he breathed in the scent of her skin, registered the warmth of her soft curves through his clothes. Yes. Yes, this was really happening. He cupped the nape of her neck, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Gently at first, so he didn’t rush her.
But then she threaded her fingers through his hair, tugged him closer and knocked his world sideways.
Damn, the woman could kiss. His heart pounded faster with each beat, and desire pounded through him even harder. She sucked at his lower lip, and he went almost light-headed with desire. Had he pushed her down on the mattress or had she pulled him across her? When had they gone horizontal?
He groaned, trying to pull back from her addictive mouth long enough to assess the situation. “This is moving fast.”
“And fast is bad?” she asked coyly.
I don’t know. Selfish desire warred with concern for her.
Her smile faltered, and she propped herself up on her elbows. “Do you not want...”
“Are you kidding me, woman? I’m hard-pressed to think of anything I’ve ever wanted more.” He glanced pointedly at his lap. “Very hard-pressed. But you’ve had an emotional night. I don’t want to take advantage.”
She sat up, her fingers skimming beneath the hem of his thin shirt. “Okay, now I want you even more. I appreciate the concern—and it has been an emotional night—but I wasn’t upset when I wanted you to kiss me this morning. Or when I wanted to touch you in the kitchen, before we were interrupted. You’ve thought about it, too, right?”
He leaned forward to kiss a path from the curve of her neck to her cleavage. “Sweetheart, I’ve barely been able to think of anything else since the first time I saw you.”
She gave a murmur of approval at his words, arching her back when he palmed one breast through her top. “I want this,” she said breathlessly. Her body gave him the same message, her nipples hard against the satiny material of her pajamas, her hips subtly rocking against his, beckoning him closer.
Eager to accommodate, he unbuttoned the sleep shirt, baring her generous breasts. He rubbed his thumb across one peak, feeling both reverent and possessive. When he bent down to replace his thumb with his tongue, she made a sharp, sexy sound, so he did it again.
He wanted to give her everything, wanted to make her shake with desire. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” She shuddered as he licked and suckled her. “Wait, there is one other thing...”
“Name it.”
Her voice was pure seduction. “Can I be on top?”
With a grin, he rolled over. “You do like to be in charge, don’t you?”
She straddled him. “Don’t worry, cowboy. I’ll make sure you like it, too.”
* * *
BECCA WOKE DISORIENTED to predawn birdsong outside the window, stiffening when realization hit her. I’m naked! I’m naked in Sawyer’s bed!
Well, technically, she owned the bed. And the house. Which would make leaving easy—she only had to go down one flight of stairs—but could make everything else awkward. There would definitely be no avoiding each other. Not that she wanted to avoid him, necessarily. She didn’t regret any of the three times they’d had sex throughout the night, each one better than the last. But being in the same house didn’t give her time or space to process what had happened.
“I know you aren’t a morning person,” Sawyer murmured, without raising his face from the pillow next to her, “So I’m trying not to take your panic as an insult.”
“Panic? Who’s panicking?”
“I’ve been to petrified forests where the wood isn’t as rigid as you are right now. Do you want to talk about it?”
She expelled a breath, vastly reassured. He was just as wonderful now as he had been last night. “Not really. But it means a lot that you offered. I don’t want you to think I have regrets. It’s just been a long time since I woke up next to a man. And I’ve never woken up next to any man except for Marc’s father.”
Sawyer sat up, his expression perplexed. “You mean since the divorce.”
“I mean since ever.” She’d slept only with her ex-husband. In high school, she’d never even been tempted. Growing up with a mother who was habitually pregnant had left Becca convinced that the reward wouldn’t be worth the risk. “Colin and I married young. And before that, I was too worried about the possibility of accidental pregnancy. You may have noticed I was very adamant about the condoms.”
He chuckled. “That’s not the part of last night that stands out in my memory.”
“It was all pretty memorable.” She sighed. “In a perfect world, I could stay and we could do it again, but I have work. Plus, I should check on Molly. And call the Whittmeyers to make sure Marc is all right.”
“I’ll bet he’s hanging in there—you’re raising a great kid. Will I see you tonight?”
“Unless I miraculously turn invisible. I live here, remember?”
He smirked. “Ha-ha. I meant—”
“I knew what you meant,” she said softly. Would there be any repeat of this, of them together? “Marc will be back home tonight, and my current relationship with my sister is...volatile, to say the least. I’d like to set good examples for both of them.”
“So no cuddling on the couch, making out in the stairwell or throwing you down on the kitchen table?”
Her face heated. “That was a joke, right? I mean, it’s not something you’ve actually thought about while we’re sitting there having coffee?”
“No comment.”
Damn. Now she would be thinking about that the next time they were in the kitchen together. “I have to be discreet. As for when I might find myself up here again... Can we play it by ear?”
“Of course.” He pulled her close, kissing her shoulder. “You know where to find me.”
* * *
BEFORE BECCA LEFT for work, she hadn’t been able to get any response from the motionless lump that was her sister. So she’d left water, aspirin and a note saying she’d check back later on the nightstand. She returned on her lunch break, after the most productive morning she’d had in months; either sex left her energized or she was working really hard in order to avoid thinking about last night. She wasn’t ashamed of anything they’d done, but she was in the habit of thinking long-term. With Sawyer, that thought process was null.
Luckily, she had plenty of other things to concentrate on—like a full-time job, a town-wide celebration, a debate in three days and a pain-in-the-ass sister.
When she pulled up in front of the house, Sawyer’s truck was gone. He’d mentioned exploring a fort today for a piece he was writing that included a lot of the area’s history. She was both relieved she and her sister wouldn’t have an audience within earshot of their conversation, and paradoxically disappointed not to see him.
After letting Trouble out, she went to Molly’s room with a bowl of soup; she’d stopped to buy a couple cans on the way home.
“Knock, knock,” she said, not shouting, but making no effort to keep her voice down, either. If Molly had a killer headache, that was her own fault.
Molly mumbled something unintelligible.
Becca put the soup on the nightstand. “I don’t mean to be a hard-ass about this, but I need you to wake up. There are some things we have to discuss before Marc comes home this afternoon.”
“Oh, God.” Molly shoved a tangle of hair out her face. “Marc. I was awful to him.”
“You were awful to everyone,” Becca said matter-of-factly. “But you can’t ever do that again in front of my son. If y
ou do, you’re out.”
Molly nodded silently, her eyes glittering with tears. After a moment, she reached for the tissues on the nightstand, sniffling. “You love him so much. Do you think...do you think our mother ever loved us?”
The question caught Becca off guard. “Yes.” In the beginning, maybe, when they were snuggly babies and not unruly toddlers or kids with increasingly complicated lives. Odette liked cradling newborns, but in the years that followed, she was crap at parenting. When Becca was young, it had never occurred to her to question why her mother kept having babies. They’d lived in a rural town surrounded by family-owned farms, with a predominantly Catholic population. Large families were not uncommon. Looking back, though, Becca wondered if their mother had been trying to recapture that early love she’d felt for her children.
I’ll probably never know. While Becca had made her peace with that, it was clear Molly was still tormented by her upbringing, by questions of whether she’d been wanted. There was one certainty Becca could give her sister. “Daddy loved us...so much. He adored you. There were complications when the twins were born, and I don’t think he ever expected to be a father again after that. Then you came. I remember how excited he was when they brought you home from the hospital. I wish you could’ve known him longer.”
“Me, too. I only have a few memories, but they’re all good. I feel like my happiest childhood moments were with him.”
“Do you think... Is that maybe why you’re drawn to older men?” Becca asked gently. Maybe once Molly identified the underlying cause of her actions, it would be easier to change her behavior.
But Molly recoiled, her face tight with anger. “That is gross! And you don’t know what you’re talking about. Who died and made you a licensed therapist?”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Out.” Molly grabbed the plastic wastebasket Becca had left next to the bed, brandishing it in front of her like a weapon. “I’m gonna be sick again. So unless you want to stay and watch...”
Hell, no. After last night, she never wanted to hear the sound of retching again. Yet it seemed important that Molly know she wasn’t alone. “If you need me, I’ll stay.”
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